Page 40 of Harris

“What the hell stinks?” Griffin asked.

“I don’t know. It appears the tequila box has already been cracked,” Woodley said while pointing to an opened box set in the corner by the refrigerator. “That didn’t take long. Looks like two bottles are missing.”

“Found one empty in the recycling,” Apollo said from the other side of the kitchen.

“Nice to know the assholes are environmentally conscious,” Harris said. “But they couldn’t give a rat’s ass for the people living in it.”

“Okay, let’s spread out and make this quick,” Stryker ordered. “Though I’d like to have a face-to-face with this asshole, that’ll have to be another time. Recon only.”

“Soloman and the second man have arrived at the bar,” Gunner announced over the comms. “Conor will let us know when they make a move. Also, point of interest, the dude with Soloman has some abilities, according to Conor.”

“I wondered,” Apollo said. “I was a bit too far away, but something stood out about the guy.”

“Why would a survivor work for the enemy?” Woodley asked. “That shit doesn’t make sense.”

“We’ll have to ask him,” Harris growled.

“At least we know where they are,” Stryker said. “Let’s move.”

“Man, they need to crack a window and air this place out and get some air fresheners,” Woodley said. “This is disgusting.”

Harris and Woodley headed to the living room while Stryker, Apollo, and Griffin headed down the hall to the stairs leading to the second level, and the bedrooms. The living room had a single recliner positioned in front of a television set.

“Where the hell does the second dude sit?” Woodley asked. “The floor?”

“By the looks of things, yes, or maybe he stays in his bedroom,” Harris suggested.

They looked through the small table set beside the chair. Other than the remoteand some bills, which Woodley took a picture of to record the name Soloman was using in New Orleans, there was a single empty glass that smelled of tequila sitting in the cupholder attached to the chair. It was convenient that a half-empty Jose Cuervo Reserva De La Familia bottle sat on the floor; he wouldn’t have to get up for a refill. That liquor was over two hundred dollars a bottle. You’d think it deserved to be on the table.

“Nothing here,” Harris announced to Woodley and the rest of the team through the comms.

Woodley stood staring at the large hutch containing the television. It stood roughly seven feet tall and at least six feet wide. The shelves held miscellaneous knickknacks, a few books on genetics—go figure—and three packages of unopened copy paper.

“What are you thinking?” Harris asked Woodley.

“I feel a breeze coming from behind that,” Woodley said, pointing at the hutch.

Harris bent and held his hand along the hardwood floor, and sure enough, he felt a cold breeze coming from behind the hutch.

“Could be an air vent,” Harris said as he tried to look under the monstrous piece of lumber.

“Only one way to find out,” Woodley said.

Harris stood in front of the hutch and Woodley stood to the other side.

“On the count of three,” Woodley said. “One. Two. Three.”

Harris concentrated and used his powers to lift the piece of furniture without much effort, careful not to break anything or leave scrape marks on the hardwood as Woodley directed it a couple feet away from the wall so they could fit behind it, but it wasn’t a wall they found.

“Well, look at that,” Harris said. “A door.”

“Someone doesn’t want us to look in there,” Woodley huffed.

“There must be a basement, but I didn’t notice any windows on the house’s exterior,” Harris said.

“They went to some trouble hiding it. It would be rude of us not to have a look around.” Woodley grinned.

“Hell no, we wouldn’t want to be rude,” Harris chuckled.

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